


Detention

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dirk has a gay wet dream, M/M, Trans Male Character, but now, its become this fucking monster, originally this was just them hating each other from across the room, so imma put that stuff here, that doesnt really fit into the fic, thats the fucking plot, theyre in detention, this is also snippets of stuff that is based on my original fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're the only two students in detention, and you know he's here for beating someone up for the umpteenth time this semester alone. He grins, that grin that you can't keep out of your mind and, God above, do you hate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detention

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first legitimate fanfiction, so maybe leave a kudos? This is also on tumblr.  
> EDIT: This is no longer the first chapter. I'm going to keep it up separate of the rest of this fic but still in the same series. I have big plans for this fic so please leave comments and suggestions! This is also going to be a "side fic" with snippets and stuff that won't be in the official fic. Oops, I guess?

  
You really fucking hate him. He's staring at you from across the class with those disgusting miss-matched eyes, that ugly pale blonde hair. He watches you shift, uncomfortable under his sharp glare, and your glasses can't hide the fact that you are red with frustration. You frown, eyebrows knitting together and you meet his stare, the moment tensing. You're the only two students in detention, and you know he's here for beating someone up for the umpteenth time this semester alone. He grins, that grin that you can't keep out of your mind and, God above, do you hate him.  
“Hello, Dirk,” He sneers, perfectly straight, bleach-white teeth glint at you as he speaks and you feel the need to slap him. Hal Lalonde is truly doing to be your death.  
“Fuck off, Hal,” You respond, dismissive, and turn back to the work you're supposed to be doing. He never does, he just keeps staring daggers into you as you turn several shades of red under your shirt collar. The teacher shushes you, and it seems like the hours can't pass fast enough.  
You can't focus on your work, no matter how fast you write, and you rip the paper from erasing the same spot way too many times. You have to scratch out words as you continue, not even bother to flip your lead pencil to erase your mistakes. His stare is hot on your neck, burning a hole into your skin, and you feel as if your breath has begun to catch and sigh as you become too aware of his gaze. You turn in time to watch him lick his lips and you swear you could just vomit at the sight.  
He laughs at your disgusted expression, and you both get scolded again for speaking. You bite your tongue, a consequence of sticking your tongue out while you concentrate on anything. Pain stabs your sensitive tongue and you whine quietly at the sharp feeling. You try to concentrate again, finally free of Hal's glare when Mr. Harley shouts at him to do his assignments, that they have to be done by 4:30 on the dot.  
Of course, you finish much earlier than the time expected, but Mr. Harley won't let you leave. You stare of the tiny window in the cinder-block classroom, a carbon copy of every other room in your generically American high school. You really hate this place. Your mind wanders, and before you realize it, you're asleep, and your dreams shift to that despicable face. Except, this time, it's above you, and in your mind, you are much too warm.  
You hear yourself panting before you feel it, your chest heaving as you let your head roll to the side. He whispers your name as if it were a sin to speak, and you feel it should be, because his voice is foul. You growl, side-eyeing him as he peppers your dark skin with teeth marks and bruises. You hate yourself for letting him do this, but you can't resist – neither can he, apparently. He bites down particularly hard on your shoulder and your back arches involuntarily, a gasp escaping you, and you swear. He chuckles and you want to kill him.  
He unbuttons your dress shirt at such an agonizing pace that you shove him off, finishing the job yourself and glare at him. You're leaning back on your hands, shirt left unbuttoned and your black pants unzipped, legs open as if someone had taken a photo of you for a male playboy magazine. He stares at you, sitting back on his knees and staring at you like a hungry dog. He crawls forward and you scoff, amused at how animal-like he can act in front of you. When he reaches you, he pushes you back, a grin back on his face, and you lean on your elbows. Everything is warm, unbelievably so, and there's a tight knot in the pit of your stomach that only seems to tighten as time passes.  
“Turn over,” He demands, and you laugh aloud but when he grabs your hair you moan, pissed at yourself as you obey the order. Somewhere in your dream, he fabricates lube, grabbing your hips and pulling up. You bite your lips, keeping a whimper of his name back before it spills out, hanging your head, and you're still on your elbows as you hear the bottle pop. He pulls your pants down, and-  
“Strider... Strider! Wake up, boy!” He says, but it's not his voice - it's Mr. Harley's voice, yet it comes out of his open mouth and you wake up from your distressing nightmare.  
You snap your head up, and hit your head against Hal as he shakes you awake. You both swear and groan, glaring at each other. You rub the back of your head, and he holds his chin, and then Mr. Harley scoffs from his seat at the teachers desk. Your face is flushed and you feel an annoying wetness in your boxers. Your binder feels uncomfortably tight, and you are so embarrassed you could die right here, right now. You stand abruptly, grabbing your things and give a few sharp coughs as the tall old man dismisses you and the Lalonde boy from detention. You scuttle out, much shorter than him, but he keeps up without a problem, a few steps of his abnormally long legs keeping him right by your side.  
“Could you fuck off-” You start, but he turns on you, pushing you against a wall, hidden from view, and grins. You bite your tongue, refrain from spitting out a string of insults at him. He grabs your chin, tilting your head up and your bare your teeth in warning. You shift, try to feel more comfortable as the slick makes everything uncomfortable. He laughs at your discomfort before sighing sarcastically.  
“Y'know, you talk in your sleep. You're lucky Mr. Harley is practically deaf, or he'd have heard you say my name.” He slurs out, and your eyes widen impossibly, your face going a deep shade of red as he ruffles your black hair, your brown eyes following after him as he walks away as if nothing happens. You frown and glare at him as he rounds a corner.  
You really fucking hate him.


End file.
